


The Long Run

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a fluffy ending, Canon Divergence, Episode: s02e16 Blood Must Have Blood Part II, F/M, Metaphorical and literal, Post-Episode: s02e16 Blood Must Have Blood Part II, lots of running
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28095801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy becomes Wanheda instead of Clarke. S2 canon divergence.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 12
Kudos: 92





	The Long Run

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwearplaids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwearplaids/gifts).



> This little fic is a thank you gift to Liya for the beautiful art she did to accompany "The Best of Friends". She asked for a canon divergence where Bellamy becomes Wanheda, so this starts off right at the end of S2. Happy reading!
> 
> Content note: missing person, running away, emotionally neglectful childhood.

Bellamy doesn't think twice. Monty says that the technical part is done, that pulling the lever will irradiate the level. Clarke is hesitating, trying to balance her conscience with her desperate need to save her people.

Bellamy doesn't hesitate. He sees his sister dragged, kicking and presumably screaming, towards the bone marrow drill. So he pulls the lever and irradiates level five.

There's a moment's silence. Monty blinks at him, awed. Clarke frowns at him, displeased.

"I'd have helped." She says – but rather helplessly, he thinks. "I was going to do it."

He simply shrugs. Her words come as too little, too late.

 _My sister, my responsibility_. This is the way the world works – or it is the way _his_ world has worked, for almost as long as he has known.

…...

He doesn't think twice, either, for the first few minutes after he has done the deed. Sure, he's killed a lot of people – and not all of them enemies. Some of them were friends even though they were born in this mountain. But it's not the first time he's done something reckless and extreme in his sister's name, and he doubts it will be the last. In his mind, this is only a natural progression from shooting Jaha, really.

But then he reunites with Octavia herself, and it seems she thinks differently.

"It was you?" She asks, all fire and fury. "Monty says it was you. You irradiated the level?"

He nods, because it's the truth. "I was trying to protect you."

"I didn't ask you to do that. I didn't ask you to kill all these people. Not Maya." She heaves in a loud breath. "Jasper was about to do it, you know. Just a couple more seconds and he'd have killed Cage."

Bellamy snorts. He's known Jasper a couple of months, now, and he thinks nothing is _less_ likely than that he would have come through and saved the day. He's a kind guy and all, but he has a good track record of making a mess.

And besides, protecting Octavia is Bellamy's particular duty. A couple more seconds and she would have had a drill in her hip. So that's that, isn't it?

"When will you stop?" Octavia continues, somehow even angrier. "When will you understand that I don't want you to run around hurting people in my name, Bellamy? I don't want you to protect me like that. I don't need your help."

"I'm trying to do what Mum told me to do." He tells her, beginning to feel rather helpless.

"Well _don't_. I don't need your protection. I don't need you."

 _I don't need you_.

He takes a deep breath.

 _I don't need you_.

That was definitely what she said.

He runs right out the door.

…...

He doesn't stop running for a long time.

He's always been a runner, all his life. Not in the sense of being an athlete, but in the sense of fleeing when the going gets tough. He used to run out of the apartment when he was a kid, whenever the pressure of his mother's expectations and his sister's safety got to be too much for him. He would take advantage of the fact that he could leave when Octavia couldn't, and go lose himself in the hallways of the Ark for a while. He's been like that since he came to Earth, too – ditching Raven's radio so he could flee the Ark, planning to run when his sister was angry with him back at the dropship camp.

Clarke stopped him that day. _Clarke_.

She said she'd have helped him – he remembers that, now he's slowing to a stop amidst unfamiliar forest. And here he is, many miles away, and he never even told her he was going.

He never even said goodbye.

It's that thought which brings it into focus for him. He's not planning to go back. He's not ready to go back, not yet. Maybe not for a long time. Maybe not for a lifetime. So it would have been kind to say goodbye.

Screw it all. There's nothing kind about this planet, and Bellamy doesn't see why he should be any different.

…...

He keeps fleeing, at a slow shuffling walk when he gets tired, stopping to camp for the night when he can go no longer.

He adapts to this nomadic lifestyle, one piece at a time. He trades his disgusting Mount Weather uniform for a robust set of furs, and decides his trade partner probably got the worse end of the deal. He starts with a sharp flint, upgrades to a real knife. One kill at a time he moves from snared rats to speared fish to shot boar.

Days blur into weeks, and still he flees. He doesn't head home, because he doesn't have a home. His mother is dead and the Ark destroyed. The dropship camp is a charred relic, and he's never had particularly affectionate feelings towards Camp Jaha. His sister used to be his home, but she doesn't need him any more.

Clarke? Didn't he used to think Clarke could be his home, once?

That's silly, of course. She sent him into Mount Weather. She hesitated, made him pull that lever alone.

 _I'd have helped._ Huh. Too little, too late.

He heads for the sea. He follows the half-remembered directions that Clarke passed on from Lincoln – the woman who didn't help him, and the man his sister now needs. But all the same, he follows their lead, can practically hear Clarke's firm voice as he follows a well-beaten track south.

The sea is beautiful. He crests a hill late one morning, sees it glittering through the trees, then opening up in front of him beyond a sandy beach. The sun is warm on his face, the sand soft beneath his feet, and when he ventures into the water it's pleasantly cool.

The sea is beautiful, and yet it doesn't bring him peace. He sets up camp in the treeline that evening and wonders how much further he can keep running.

If he runs straight into the water, what then?

…...

He turns back into the forest, heads north once again. Not out of any particular desire to turn home – because, as he's already established, he has no home – but rather because the climate seems better there and the game more plentiful. As long as he keeps moving, he hopes that will be enough to soothe his soul, in time. As long as he walks and walks and walks, his heart is still running.

Land that he used to half-recognise now becomes intimately familiar to him. He carves himself out a nomadic existence in mostly Trikru territory, making a new camp every night. He trades every so often with a blonde woman named Niylah who asks him no questions and gives him no trouble. Every once in a while he allows himself to consider inviting her into his bed to chase away the memories that still haunt him of a rather different blonde woman he never said goodbye to. But it's probably not a good idea, and anyway Niylah really doesn't show him any interest. He wonders if she's into women, perhaps, or into no one at all.

But he doesn't ask, of course, because _no questions_ is basically the only condition of their deals.

…...

He first hears about the bounty from Niylah. He doesn't believe it to begin with – either that it's true and there's a price on his head, or that Niylah is breaking their usual habit and having such an informative conversation with him.

"They're calling me _what_?" He asks.

"Wanheda. The Commander of Death."

"Why?"

"Because of what you did in the mountain. The mountain men have been an enemy to us for a long time, and you conquered them. But queen Nia wants your power for herself."

"So it's her who's put a price on my head?"

"No. It's the Commander. They both want you."

Great. Here's him, Bellamy Blake, janitor and nobody. And with the pull of a lever he's made himself the Commander of Death and got the two most powerful women on the ground hunting him down.

Just great.

_I'd have helped._

Too late, Clarke. Too little, too late.

…...

He gets more curious, after that. He starts lingering on the edge of villages, loitering behind hunting parties just hidden by the trees. He wants to know what's going on, hear any and all news about the hunt for him.

He's not sure why. Maybe it's pure survival instinct, the desperate urge to flee from wherever the bounty hunters have most recently been spotted. Or maybe it's something worse, a kind of sick fascination with his own sudden high profile. No one has ever come looking for him before, not in all the years he's been a runner. His mum used to let him tire himself out and come home in his own time.

Clarke. Clarke came with him to the supply depot, stopped him running any further.

So anyway, the point is, he's thrilled in a disgusting way to have these people searching for him. It makes him feel noticed as an individual, for the first time in all his years of life.

He thinks maybe he'd rather be noticed in a more _loving_ way, but he supposes he can't have everything. If life has taught him nothing else, it has certainly taught him that.

…...

He starts to hear the whispers, but he doesn't believe them.

They say a blonde is looking for him. Short but fiery. The woman from the mountain, who negotiated with the Commander. The Skaikru leader's daughter.

It's not her. It's not Clarke – it simply can't be. No way would she drop everything and search the forest for him.

And even if she did? Too little, too late.

But he asks Niylah about it all the same. Just to be sure. He doesn't see the harm in wanting to get his facts straight. He's just here to confirm that Clarke isn't looking for him, really. Just to reassure himself that it's total nonsense, just as he knows it to be.

"They say even Clarke's hunting me now." He says idly.

"She's not _hunting_ you. She's looking for you. Says she wants to find you before the bounty hunters get to you."

He gulps. That sounded very certain and very specific. "You've spoken with her?"

"Yes. She was here three times last week. I sent her the wrong way every time. You want me to let her find you yet?"

He shakes his head firmly. He's not ready. He's still running.

But he has to admit that just for once in his life it feels good to know there's someone who cares enough to follow.

Is it too little, too late? He's no longer sure.

…...

He gets ambushed. Strong arms are around his neck before he can blink. A heavy stranger is kneeling on his chest before he has chance to react.

He doesn't much mind. If this is a bounty hunter, and the Azgeda queen is going to eat his heart or whatever, then so be it. His heart seems to have outlived its usefulness to him anyway.

His only regret? One brief, passing thought. He really should have said goodbye to Clarke.

There's a cloth over his nose and mouth now. A cloth that smells funny and tastes funny. And his vision is blurring, the world spinning around him.

He passes out.

…...

He comes round to the sound of an argument.

"Did you even listen when I said it wouldn't take much? How much of that stuff did you give him? I swear if he doesn't wake up -"

"Easy, Clarke. I got the dose right. Look – he's stirring now."

Clarke? _Clarke_? Clarke's here?

It did sound like Clarke, Bellamy has to admit. Did she really come to find him?

It feels like Clarke, too. He realises that very abruptly, when she starts stroking his forehead and whispering urgently to him.

"Can you hear me, Bellamy? Are you with me?"

He tries to answer that, tries to tell her he'll always be with her, one way or another. But it comes out as a groan.

"Bellamy?"

He blinks his eyes open. "Hey, Princess."

She laughs, a giddy, relieved sound. "Bellamy. Hey. How are you doing?"

"Never better." He tries to joke. They used to joke, he seems to remember.

She laughs a little more, but again he thinks it might be the sudden release of tension and anxiety rather than any actual humour that has her so giggly.

He tries to sit up and look around him, but it's difficult. He settles for just craning his neck, sees that they seem to be in a cave and there's a rather strongly built guy wandering shirtless on the other side of the fire. Huh. He's the guy who took him down. He's working _with_ Clarke? _For_ Clarke?

Hooking up with Clarke?

Not that it would matter if he was, obviously. Bellamy knows he has no right to worry about such things. But all the same, he doesn't much like this guy. An introduction which doubles as a kidnapping will do that.

"I'm not sure about the beard." Clarke offers, carefully light, snapping his attention back to her.

He offers a tired smile. "Didn't shave much while I was on my travels."

She nods. She curls an arm under his neck and shoulders, helps ease him into a sitting position.

He goes with it. He figures he cannot lie around here all day. He ought to get up and get on, figure out what the hell he's doing next. Once he's sitting, he braces himself as best as he can, tries to convince his still-dozy muscles to hold him upright.

It doesn't matter, in the end. Clarke stays right next to him, her arm still curled around his waist, holding him upright even as she hugs him tightly against her.

Huh. That's an interesting development.

"I guess I'll leave you two to catch up." The stranger beyond the fire says lightly, taking himself off towards the entrance of the cave. "Hang a boot outside if you get up to anything I don't want to walk in on."

Bellamy frowns. He can't quite make sense of that. Anything he doesn't want to walk in on? What – like _sex_? He seems to remember some code of hanging ties on the door in comedies from Earth before the bombs, but he cannot understand why this stranger thinks he and Clarke will be getting up to _that_.

She sent him into the mountain. He left without saying goodbye. It's a big step from there to – to _boots hanging outside_.

"Don't mind Roan." Clarke says quietly, breaking the silence the stranger leaves behind.

"So that's Roan?" Polite of him to introduce himself, Bellamy seethes darkly.

"Yeah. He's been helping me look for you."

"Who is he?"

"Queen Nia's exiled son. He's decided to ally himself to Skaikru instead. I think he's decided that loyalty to us and Lexa is more useful to him right now."

Bellamy nods carefully. He squints at the layout of the cave – two beds, far apart from each other. He thinks about Roan's words, about Clarke's arm still snug around his waist.

But then he also thinks of Roan's unfairly sculpted abs, and that cocky attitude which is so clear just from a few moments' acquaintance.

"And who is he to _you_?" He asks her with careful emphasis.

Clarke simply laughs, hugs him a little tighter. "I guess we've kind of become friends. He's the only guy who was desperate enough to have allies that he's spent the last three months helping me look for you. Miller and Monty and the others come out to help whenever they have a couple of days free from their duties at camp."

But she quit her duties at camp. That's what she's implying here, all too plainly. She actually up and left and abandoned her keenly-felt responsibility to her people to look for him.

Wow.

It's not an action he expects of Clarke Griffin. She's obsessed with taking care of everyone. And it's pretty humbling to think that she chose to follow him rather than take care of hundreds back at Camp Jaha.

Humbling, but also _wonderful_.

"Why are you here?" He asks.

She does not pretend to misunderstand. She simply hugs him tighter, inhales a deep breath. "Because it should have been me. I really was going to pull that lever. And I felt like – like it should have been my responsibility. I formed the alliance. I made the plan. I'd already sent you in there – I wasn't about to ask you to pull that lever, too."

He nods. He's not sure what to make of that – she's making it sound like she's here out of guilt rather than anything else, and he thinks the arm around his waist tells a different story.

It turns out she's not done talking. She takes another steadying breath, and he gets brave and reaches out to squeeze her thigh in turn. "But also because I missed you." She admits softly. "I missed your company. You're important to me and I didn't like to think of you hurting all alone. And I was worried about you – I knew you'd survive physically, but I was worried about how your head must be doing, for you to take off into the forest alone and just... not come back. Octavia said to leave you, that you'd always been one for running off and you'd be back in your own time. But – but I couldn't just leave you." She gulps loudly. "I couldn't lose you."

That's interesting, he thinks. A little over three months ago, it was _I can't lose you too_. It was a comparison between him and Finn and maybe Wells, a statement that he ranked amongst her shortlist of important people.

But now? Now there's something about her tone, the way she shapes the words, that makes him think he's on a list all of his own.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you. I just – I needed to get away. But it means a lot that you cared enough to follow me." He gets the words out, although they are sticky and try to cling to his throat. "I'm sorry I never said goodbye."

She laughs. It's a damp laugh, but it's a laugh nonetheless. "It's OK. I'd honestly forgotten that for a couple of minutes – I was so relieved at having you back that for a moment I forgot I was furious with you for not saying goodbye."

"I regretted that so much while I was gone. I thought about you a lot, wondered how you were doing and whether you hated me for leaving without a word." He admits.

"I'm not good at hating you. But I was really angry. I just – I wished you'd taken me with you. I kept wondering how things would be different if we'd pulled that lever together. Would we have coped with it together, too? Run away together?"

That stirs a memory in him. "I almost asked you to run away with me that day at the supply depot, you know." He offers.

She snorts. "Really?"

"Yeah."

She's silent for a moment. He knows she's going to speak soon, though – he can almost sense that she's just collecting the words.

"I wouldn't have come with you that day." She says in the end. "It was too soon. We still had the kids and I really did feel a duty to take care of them. But if you'd asked me after Mount Weather I'd have come no questions asked. I think – I needed a break, too. After that TonDC missile, all this time looking for you has been really good for me. And our people don't need us so much right now. They've got the Ark adults and we have peace for now at least."

He nods. "I'll ask you to come with me next time." He tells her. He sort of means it as a self-deprecating joke, but it sounds more like a solemn promise.

"Please do."

He rearranges himself a little, shifts so that he's hugging her too. He figures she wouldn't have kept her arm around him for so long if she was averse to a bit of hugging. And beyond that, he also thinks he might need the comfort of holding her close if he's to make it through his next question.

"How's my sister?" He asks softly.

"She's OK. Very worried about you – she always asks for updates. But she never comes to help look for you. I got mad at her for that at first, but she insists it's better to let you come home in your own time. We've had to agree to disagree on that."

"I think she genuinely thinks she's right. That's what my mum always did and I guess she's learnt to follow her example. No one ever really asked me what I need when I run."

Clarke stiffens slightly. "What do you need?" She asks, as if suddenly wondering whether she's got it wrong, here.

"This." He reassures her right away. "This is perfect. You got it right."

"Then why didn't you want Niylah to tell us where you were?"

He frowns, considers it for a moment. "It's complicated."

"Then explain it." She challenges.

OK. He'll try. "I guess part of it was that I wasn't ready. I didn't even realise I was ready today until we had this talk. And maybe – sorry, this will sound awful – but maybe I didn't want it to be too easy? I wanted you to actually have to put some effort into showing me you cared. Sorry. That's screwed up."

"It's screwed up, but it's not your fault it's screwed up." Clarke says lightly. "Sounds like you didn't have the most emotionally healthy childhood."

He snorts. That's putting it mildly. "I'll try to do better." He suggests. "Sorry. I guess I've realised today that talking with you might actually work better than running."

Clarke makes a little humming noise. Maybe it's agreement, or maybe she's trying to soothe him. Either way, it's nice, and they sit there quietly for a moment.

But there's just one more question he needs to ask.

"Why does Roan think we might have to hang a boot outside?" He asks.

Clarke snorts. "Why do you think, Bellamy? I've just spent three months searching for you. What do you think Roan thinks is going on between us? He doesn't think we're platonic passing acquaintances, does he?"

Oh. _Oh_. Is Clarke trying to suggest that she would _like_ them to be more than platonic passing acquaintances? Is this really happening, all at once, within minutes of them being reunited?

"What do you think we are?" He asks her cautiously.

She pulls away from the hug. He thinks that's a bad sign, at first, as he misses the warmth of her arms. But then she's looking up at him with eyes that are warmer still, smiling that slightly sad smile of hers.

"Honestly? I think it doesn't matter. I think I would be whatever you want me to be, so long as you're happy and healthy and not running round a forest on your own. I get that you've got a lot to process at the minute and I don't want to make it any harder for you so – so I'm here. Whatever you need from me, I'm here."

He considers that for a moment. He's always known that Clarke is selfless – she gives her time and energy and effort for her people so generously, and he knows it costs her a lot. But today he's sitting here and listening to her say that she'll be there for him unconditionally, and it takes his breath away.

No one has ever offered him even half as much before.

He wonders about trying to articulate how he feels. He wonders about trying to explain that he does think of her romantically, but that he's still not in a good place to think about anything much at all. That he supposes he probably does love her, but that love has always been quite a toxic thing in his experience, and that he doesn't want to associate his positive relationship with her and the more negative relationships with his mother and sister.

He wonders about running again, lying to himself and to her that this is too little, too late. When really he's only scared because it feels like too much all at once.

He takes in a deep breath, tries to say something more useful than any of those fleeting thoughts.

"You're Clarke. That's what I need from you – just keep being Clarke. Keep being the woman who didn't want me to pull that lever alone. Who's always trying to help me even when I can't see it. Who'd run away with me, if I asked." He swallows. "But I'd really like it if we could kiss sometimes, too."

She's laughing and crying and smiling, all at once. And then she's leaning in, cupping her hand around his face, and this is really happening and it's so much he thinks his heart might burst.

The kiss is soft, but not hesitant. It's more tender than tentative, as if she's trying to show him how much she cares and that she won't rush him any faster than he can handle.

He can handle more than this, for the record. He's been attracted to Clarke since pretty much the moment they met and even if he's still not got his head in the right place to talk about love, he can certainly deal with a more urgent kiss.

He tries to show her that. He tangles a hand in her hair, tugs her a little closer, kisses her deeper. He nibbles lightly at her lower lip, urges her to open up and let him -

Roan strides back into the cave, laughing boisterously. "What did I say about the boot, Clarke?"

Bellamy jumps back. But Clarke follows him, hand still on his cheek, and whispers against his lips.

"Ignore Roan. He can wait."

Bellamy doesn't wait to be told twice. He gets back to kissing Clarke, relishing the feel of her hair beneath his fingertips, her lips against his, her soft curves pressing closer to his body as she shifts against him. He groans slightly, tenses from surprise more than displeasure.

"Sorry. Too much, too soon?" She murmurs, apologetic.

"No. Just right."

"You can take my shirt off if you like."

Bellamy doesn't think twice. He doesn't hesitate, doesn't so much as blink.

He starts tugging at her shirt, and trusts that this Roan guy has the good sense to know when he's not wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
